


Icy What You Did There

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Flustered Dean, Ice Skating, M/M, Med Student Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9123403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: When Charlie drags Dean along to a local ice rink, he's not expecting to have a good time. But when he gets out onto the ice, he happens to meet someone - and he very quickly starts seeing things from a whole different angle.(This isn't a Yuri on Ice AU, but Yuri on Ice is 100% to blame for this fic's existence. Bless that show.)





	

“I can’t believe you actually managed to talk me into this.”

Lacing up his skates, Dean cast a dark look over at a red-haired, bright-eyed girl sitting directly opposite him: Charlie, fellow engineering student and long-time friend. She’d already finished tying up her ice skates, and was shuffling on her bench impatiently.

“Come _on,_ ” she said. “Lighten up, Winchester. Ice rinks don’t stick around for the whole year in Kansas. This is our last chance before next Christmas to -”

“- make complete idiots of ourselves,” Dean finished for her. He wiggled his toes; the ice skates felt heavy and cumbersome on his feet. “In public.”

“Speak for yourself,” Charlie said airily. “I’ve been skating every year since I was six. I’m not bad.”

Dean’s dark look melted into outright indignation.

“You said in the car that we could suck at it together!”

Charlie tilted her head sideways at him. “Well,” she said, “we can. You do the _suck_ part, and I’ll be here for the _together._ ”

“That doesn’t even - hey, wait!” Dean got to his feet and started walking, feeling as ungainly as a gosling, following Charlie as she made her way over to the edge of the ice rink. “Charlie - maybe I should just watch.”

“Uh huh,” Charlie said, staring out onto the ice.

“I mean, I know I paid already, but maybe they’ll give me some kinda refund.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I can just wait for you… here. Do you think they have a bar or something?”

“Uh huh.” Dean stopped talking, and followed Charlie’s eyeline; out on the ice, wearing figure-hugging leggings and a loose, woollen jumper, curly hair falling over one shoulder, was -

“Gilda,” Dean said, disbelievingly. He turned to Charlie, who was already looking up at him, having the grace to at least look a little shame-faced.

“Dean - in my defence -”

“You dragged me all the way out to this ice rink under false pretences, just so that you could stalk your girl-crush?”

Charlie glowered at him.

“It’s a _crush,_ Dean. Just a crush.”

“She’s a girl…”

“Oh, so whenever you think a girl is cute, those are girl-crushes, are they?” Charlie snorted. “Give me a break, Brando.”

Dean stared at her, wondering if that was a reference that he should understand. Charlie caught his blank expression and sighed.

“ _Marlon_ Brando. Famously bisexual.”

“Oh? Is he handsome?” Dean found himself asking, and then shook his head. “Stop distracting me from the point. You came here to hit on your crush and you dragged me along for the ride. I do third-wheeling when I’m asked nicely. I do _not_ do it when I’m the target of some kind of tactical ambush.”

“Tactical ambush?” Charlie said, half-laughing. Dean lifted one of his ice-skate-clad feet, and shook it in her direction.

“Tactical ambush!”

“Dean. Come on. You know I couldn’t have come here alone to see her, it would’ve looked terrible. I _had_ to bring a friend.”

Dean gave her a little fake smile. “Well, then. Maybe you should have made some friends who either like ice skating more, or like being lied to more.” He raised his eyebrows at her sarcastically. “I’m going to get some hot chocolate.”

Charlie grabbed his arm as he made to move off, the impish fun dissolving from her features.

“Dean - wait - sorry. I should’ve told you about how I’ve been skating before. I really did think you’d like to give it a go. You keep yourself locked away in your dorm so much that it can’t be healthy. And I should’ve told you about how I wanted to see Gilda here. I swear I’ll make it up to you, OK?”

Dean folded his arms. He knew her well enough to see sincerity in her apology, in the way that she blinked up at him solemnly, and waited for his response - she really cared whether or not he forgave her. That alone was more than enough for Dean to unbend.

“Next time you want me to third wheel,” he said, “just ask me.”

“Got it,” Charlie promised. “No more ambushes.”

“And you still have to make it up to me somehow.”

Charlie grinned, and punched him lightly on the arm.

“Maybe I can start,” she said, “by drawing a certain something to your attention. Check your three.”

Dean glanced to his right, out onto the ice. There were a few people skating there, but nothing that looked especially as though it would make up for being made to ice skate against his will.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t you see him?”

Dean reassessed the area.

“The guy wearing about ten thousand scarves?”

Charlie snorted. “Who knows what he looks like under there. No, I mean the other guy. Tall, strong jaw, rakishly good-looking?”

Dean narrowed his gaze, and - eventually - found him.

“Huh,” he said. “Yeah. Wow.”

The guy really was something to look at - he was wearing tight-fitting lycra all over that showed off his clearly-defined muscles, and his short hair was ruffled by the slight breeze as he speed-skated a few figures. Well, it seemed like speed-skating, anyway - it probably wasn’t that fast, but since Dean didn’t know jack about skating in the first place, he didn’t know the difference. It definitely _looked_ quick next to the other skaters in the area, especially next to the guy in the thousand-and-one scarves, who was shakily cutting out a slow semicircular path with both hands out for balance.

“So?” Charlie said, breaking into Dean’s thoughts as he watched scarf-guy almost fall over. “Are you gonna go talk to him?”

Dean’s attention snapped back to the more skilled skater, who seemed to be looking in his direction - was that a slight smile on his face? Dean raised his eyebrows, and the smile widened.

_Huh._

Maybe there was something there. Dean lifted a shoulder, keeping it nonchalant.

“Sure,” he said. “I might.”

Charlie nudged him with her shoulder, and turned to move out onto the ice. Her eyes locked on Gilda, who was skating smooth lines with her hands behind her back.

“Should I just skate over to her?” Charlie asked. “Or should I come with you at first - you know, for the look of it?”

Dean raised his eyebrows at her.

“And - you know - because I like you,” Charlie said, smiling winningly. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Go and get your crush on somewhere else,” he said. “Come back to me when you’re done being lovestruck and annoying.”

Charlie leaned up, and patted his cheek.

“You’re my best friend,” she said. Dean faked a little retch, and then shook his head.

“You’re my worst friend,” he said. “All my other friends take me places because they want to spend time _with_ me.”

“I’m keeping it interesting, then,” Charlie said. Out on the ice, Gilda had paused, looking in their direction; when Dean raised a hand, Gilda waved enthusiastically. Charlie waved back, curving her hand royally.

“Oh, god, why did I go for the queenly wave,” she said, still smiling, and still doing it. “I look like an idiot.”

“Get out there,” Dean said, giving her a little push.

“Ugh. But Dean, I’m such a dork…”

Dean looked down at her. He had the sudden suspicion that her bringing him along had less to do with the ‘look of the thing’, and more to do with the way that her hands were shaking a little bit, the way that she reached back for his arm to lean on. He sighed, feeling warmth for her flare in his chest.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “You are. And she likes that. So go be a dork near her.”

Charlie gave him a smile, and a brave nod.

“Wish me luck!” she said, pushing herself out onto the ice. Dean watched her go: she _was_ good, looking sure of herself from the first, her balance perfect. She didn’t have the finesse that Gilda had - or the guy in the lycra - but at least she didn’t look like she was about to fall over.

At least she wasn’t scarf guy, Dean thought ruefully, in the full knowledge that - if he stepped out onto the ice - _he_ would soon be becoming the next scarf guy. He wasn’t likely to be getting Lycra’s number when he was pulling moves like that.

But if he stayed here too long, he was going to start to draw attention to himself - and then he’d have an audience, when he finally _was_ forced to step off the safety of the carpet and out onto the ice. The last thing he wanted was for Gilda to notice his nerves and come over to try to help him, bringing Charlie along too - third wheeling from a distance was one thing, but there’d be no way to get himself out of the awkward trio once it had started.

It was time to bite the proverbial bullet, and step out onto the ice.

Dean took a deep breath. He didn’t look up to see if Lycra was watching - didn’t want to know, either way. He hoped very much that he was unobserved, and if he didn’t look, then he could pretend to himself that he definitely _was_ unobserved.

He put one tentative skate out onto the ice. It felt slippery and dangerous under the blade, which he was suddenly aware of being very _thin._

A couple of young girls pushed out past him onto the ice, their hair swinging, voices loud and confident. Dean watched them go with a mixture of admiration and envy. _Teach me your ways…_

He looked down, focusing completely on himself. He shifted his weight from the safe skate to the skate that was on the ice - felt it half-slip from under him, and shifted it quickly back.

“Hell,” he muttered under his breath.

He tried again. If he leaned towards the back of the skate, he felt like he would fall - but when he leaned forwards, it wasn’t too bad. Gripping the barrier for dear life, Dean moved his safe skate out onto the ice as well, turning his body so that he could keep leaning forwards.

_Success!_

He was crouched strangely, bracing himself against the barrier, but he’d done it. He was on the ice!

Now, he guessed, he was supposed to skate. He moved one of his blades tentatively, and felt his balance lurch.

_Nope._

Dean pulled himself closer to the barrier, trying to stand more naturally. _Act casual, Winchester. Act like you definitely_ intend _to be here, suckered to the wall like a gecko. Everything is_ fine. _Everything is completely -_

“Hey, you OK?” said a voice, and Dean turned his head to look into bright blue eyes. Lycra was standing not too far away from him, hands on his hips, smiling slightly sardonically. “Need any help?”

“Uh,” Dean said. The guy’s voice was interesting. “Uh… no, I’m - I’m good, thanks.”

Lycra raised his hands, and skated away without another word. Dean watched after him for a second, and then took a breath.

He’d made it this far. He just had to give himself a bit of momentum, to get himself moving. A standing start would be difficult for anyone, he reasoned.

He was still gripping the wall with the kind of intensity he would usually have reserved for clinging to the edge of a death-drop precipice. He gritted his teeth. Once again, he knew he was probably in danger of being swooped upon by Gilda and Charlie. He had to move, now.

Violently - a lot more violently than he’d intended, definitely - he thrust himself away from the barrier with both hands. He rocketed backwards on his blades, his balance completely lost - he found himself leaning backwards, and began windmilling his arms in horror. No, he was fine if he leant forwards, but when he leant back - he pitched his weight forwards, bending at the waist, and _just_ managed to save himself from collapsing. Still moving backwards, he held out both arms, keeping himself upright.

 _Well,_ he thought to himself after a moment. _That could have gone worse._

And then -

“Look out!” came a muffled yell - Dean turned, and had a last-second vision of a scarf-clad figure cannoning directly for him…

“Whoa!” He tried to move, and immediately lost his balance completely. He just had time to brace himself before the guy crashed directly into him. In a flurry of bangs and shouts, he had the sickening sensation of his balance being irreversibly lost - and then the ice was rising up to meet him, smashing up against his back and winding him completely.

For a moment, he lay completely still, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, God,” he heard someone say, and then realised the voice was his own. “Oh, God.”

Something moved slightly beside him, and Dean felt an accordant shift under his own head. He reached back, and grabbed whatever had cushioned his skull in the fall - bringing it round to where he could see it, he found himself looking at a bright green, knitted woollen scarf.

“Scarf guy,” Dean growled.

There was another movement beside him, and a figure sat up blearily.

“Did we live?” said the figure, somewhat morosely.

“Unfortunately,” Dean responded. His back was slowly working up a head of steam in the pain department. “Here.” He thrust the scarf back at the guy, who looked surprised.

“My scarf?”

“It stopped me cracking my head open when I fell, so, uh - thanks for that.” Dean tried to sit up, winced, and decided to lie still for a little longer. “No thanks for being the original reason I fell over, but, you know.” He glanced over at the guy, who still had at least three scarves on even though the green one had fallen off, covering up most of his face. “You know, maybe if you were wearing fewer scarves, you would have actually seen me. And not crashed into me.”

The guy blinked down at him, and then reached up, and pulled the scarves away from his face.

“Oh,” said Dean. Scarf guy had full lips, and a jawline to die for, and cheeks softly grazed with shadow, and bright blue eyes. It was instant, it was immediate - Dean felt as though he’d been hit by lightning.

Scarf guy said nothing, but kept on looking at him in a way that made Dean lose all his words.

“Um,” Dean said, trying to gather himself. “Hi.” He smiled, and a little touch of pink appeared on scarf guy’s cheeks.

“Hello,” he said in return. His voice was incredible - low, and rough. Dean blinked.

“Hi,” he said again.

The guy smiled, just a slight twitch of his lips.

“Yes. Hello.”

“You’re - uh - um - you - well, hi.”

The guy’s smile only got bigger, and Dean found himself smiling, too.

“Hello.”

Dean, still lying flat on his back and staring up at scarf guy sitting over him, struggled to find something to say that wasn’t just the series of exclamation marks that he had resounding around his head. Was this what concussion felt like? Was he dying? Was he ascending to a higher spiritual plane, or something?

“You don’t look like a ‘scarf guy’,” was all he could think to say. The guy frowned.

“Scarves are very efficient at preserving warmth. It was a pragmatic choice of garment. Or - well - garments,” he said, and honestly, Dean couldn’t care less that they were talking about knitwear; he would’ve listened to the guy talk about statistical deviations or how to paint a fence and still been rapt. The man had a _voice._

“Can’t really argue with that,” Dean said, “as I’m not going to hospital right now because of one.”

The guy’s face creased in concern, and he leaned forwards.

“Are you alright?” he said. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m good,” Dean said, trying to be cool. “My back is telling me not to move, is all.”

Dean watched the man’s expression shift into something more determined, and suddenly - without warning - the guy was leaning even further forwards, and cupping his hand lightly behind Dean’s neck.

“ _Um_ ,” Dean said, and then swallowed.

“I feel no fractures or swelling. Can you lift your head?”

Dean tried, and succeeded.

“Yeah, I’m - that’s alright. I think I’m just a bit bruised.” He sat up further, holding in a groan, and found himself on a level with the guy for the first time - looking right into those bright blue eyes.

“Hi,” he found himself saying again.

The guy smiled.

“Hello,” he said.

There was a sudden swishing sound, and a voice came from above them - a voice that Dean recognised.

“Everything alright, Cas?”

 _Lycra_ , Dean thought.

“Everything’s fine, Balthazar,” scarf guy - Cas - responded quickly, barely taking his eyes off Dean for a moment.

“What about you, good-looking?” Balthazar said, and Dean gathered that this was addressed to him. Cas frowned.

“Peachy,” Dean said, to Cas more than to Balthazar, and smiled. Cas smiled back, his scarves hanging in loose disarray around his neck.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Balthazar said - just a little huffily - and skated away.

“His voice is weird,” Dean said.

“British,” Cas explained.

“Huh.”

The guy - Cas - he had eyes that were so - so _something,_ something Dean couldn’t even find words for. _Intense,_ he tried. _Bright. Beautiful?_ None of them were doing justice to the way that Cas’ gaze made him feel like he was flying - and yet somehow, at the same time, was completely and utterly… safe.

He shook his head, as if to clear it. Was ‘suddenly believing in love at first sight’ listed among the common symptoms of concussion, he wondered. If so, he needed to get to a hospital.

“Um,” Dean said, to say something.

Cas raised an eyebrow.

“Hi?” he said. Dean swallowed his grin as best he could.

“You’re stealing my best line,” he replied. “I’m Dean.”

“Castiel,” the guy responded. “But people call me Cas.”

Dean shifted slightly on the ice. Its coldness was starting to soak through his clothes.

“Am I ‘people’?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious. He wasn’t completely certain what he meant by the question; it was a kind of opening-of-the-door, and Castiel could decide where the door led. _You sure seem like people to me,_ Dean would have said in response, and grinned.

Castiel, however, blinked at him seriously.

“I don’t know. Would you like to be?” he asked. Dean wasn’t sure he knew the right answer to that question; he was only certain of the fact that he’d probably say _yes_ to pretty much anything Castiel wanted from him, right now.

“I’d like to be something,” Dean managed to compromise by saying, though he wasn’t completely sure what that meant. He paired the statement with a smile that he couldn’t seem to keep inside.

“You already seem like something to me,” Cas replied, his voice barely carrying inflection, but the expression in his eyes warm and bright.

“Oh, my God,” said a voice - a lot higher and lighter than Balthazar’s. “Dean? Are you OK?”

Dean looked up at Charlie, who had skated over - her hand twined into Gilda’s.

“I’m good,” he said, and grinned broadly at her. Looking taken aback, she glanced at Castiel - and her expression seemed to clear.

“Alright,” she said, drawing out the last syllable just long enough to express full approval. Dean agreed with her completely. “But would you get up off the floor? You’re making everyone else look bad.”

She winked at him, and skated away. Gilda grinned bashfully at Dean as they went, and offered him a little wave.

“We should get up,” Dean said.

“We should.”

“So, uh - you first.”

“No, really, after you.”

Dean squinted at Cas narrowly.

“You have no idea how to stand up, do you?” he said. Cas’ blush returned with some force.

“This is my first time skating,” he said, a little defensively. “Balthazar said it would be fun.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” Dean said darkly. “Hang on. If you - if you hold my - if we -” He tried to manoeuvre himself sideways, his back complaining loudly.

“If I just…” Cas reached out and gripped Dean’s upper arms; Dean felt a shiver go through his whole body that had nothing to do with the chill of the ice. He was glad he hadn’t been standing up, because he thought the weakness in his knees would probably have had him flat-out on the ice all over again. _Get a grip, Winchester._ The physicality of Dean’s reaction to the guy was knocking him for six - and it wasn’t even just in a _he’s hot_ kind of way, but just a kind of - _wow._ He couldn’t come up with anything more eloquent than _wow,_ punctuated with several floating exclamation marks, and possibly some fireworks.

“Right,” he said aloud, and mirrored Cas’ action; under his layers of clothing, Cas’ biceps felt surprisingly thick and strong. Dean swallowed.

“Now just put your weight forwards,” Cas said, leaning into Dean, who couldn’t help noticing that he smelled incredible - a little heady and a little sweet. Dean found his forehead coming to rest against Cas’ shoulder as he struggled to claw his way back to his feet. Together, gripping onto each other, they hauled themselves upright, starting to snort with laughter as they repeatedly almost lost their balance and nearly collapsed back to the ground.

“Dean - Dean,” Cas said, as Dean flung out an arm to steady himself, and grabbed madly for one of Cas’ scarves with the other.

“I’m OK! I’m OK,” Dean said, standing on the ice like a newborn deer, legs a little shaky. “Whoa - _whoa -_ no, no, I’m OK.”

He managed to find his centre of gravity, and relaxed just a little. He realised that the scarf he’d grabbed had come loose under his grip - the green one, again.

“Oh, crap - sorry,” he said, holding it out to Cas, who was looking a little more stable than Dean - but just barely. Cas took it from him, and then took a wobbly little step closer, and hooked it over Dean’s neck.

“Keep it,” he said, and Dean’s brain short-circuited just a little. “It might save your head again. And it matches your eyes.”

He said it so simply and factually that he might have been reading the weather forecast. The exclamation points were back in Dean’s head, filling up all available space. He gulped.

“Mmmm,” he said, and Cas tied the scarf up under his chin. “I mean - um - thanks. It’s really nice, are you sure -”

“I’m a med student. It’s my job to save lives. I couldn’t be the one to deprive you of a potentially life-saving scarf,” Cas said seriously, and Dean schooled his face away from a smile, and nodded.

“Good point,” he said. The scarf smelled like Cas, he noted, and tried not to melt completely at the thought. _God._

“So… shall we skate?” Cas said, holding out his hand to Dean, who looked at him disbelievingly.

“You sure you want to try moving again?” he said. “We’re doing so well when we’re stationary.”

Cas looked mildly indignant.

“I was doing well with moving, before,” he said. He kept his hand out.

“What, before you crashed into me?” Dean teased him, grinning. Still, he took the hand that Cas held outstretched, and allowed himself to be tugged forwards.

“Before you presented an unavoidable obstacle,” Cas corrected with a complicated blend of primness and irony. Dean leaned a little further into him than he strictly needed to, and Cas put his hand on Dean’s shoulder to try to steady him. Together, they made ungainly progress over the ice.

“We suck at this,” Dean said. Cas huffed a little laugh.

“If we ‘suck’,” he said, his tone putting definite air-quotes around the word, “then we suck together.”

Dean couldn’t hold back his smile. They kept moving their way across the ice, each step becoming a little easier - except that every now and then, one of them would move away slightly, and the other would lose their balance - and they’d fall back into each other.

“God,” Dean said, after half an hour. “I haven’t laughed this much in years. We seriously do suck.”

When Dean looked over, he saw that Cas was - he was _glowing,_ somehow, from the inside out. And just like that, he’d stolen Dean’s breath away all over again.

“We are terrible,” Cas agreed. “We should probably practice.”

“Together,” Dean said, forgetting to make it a question. Cas nodded solemnly.

“Together,” he agreed.

“And,” Dean said, “maybe we should meet up sometime before then, too. To discuss - uh - technique.” He raised his eyebrows at Cas hopefully. Part of him was nervous, heart thudding - and yet, somewhere inside him, he felt completely secure. _This is it,_ said that part of him, looking at Cas. There was a certainty inside him, just when he looked. _You and me. This is it._

“I would like that,” Cas said, just as Dean had known he would. “I would like that very much.”


End file.
